Food for Thought
by melanie
Summary: Scully figures out the importance of knowing someone as well as you think you do. My apologies to anyone who doesn't like fluff.


Food for Thought

## Food For Thought Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't my, inventions, don't sue me. Does that cover everything?

* * *

I walked into the basement of the FBI knowing that Mulder wouldn't be there today, and I felt a surprising pang of longing for him at the thought. The first day that I had been in this basement, he had seemed so confident of his unpopularity at the FBI and that I had been sent to disprove all of his theories. Sometimes it was uncanny, the way he turned out to be right. I haven't succeeded very admirably in debunking his work, and I don't think he's gotten any more popular around here in the six years that we've been partners.

Mulder thinks he knows me. He does, most of the time, and there have been many times that I've been glad to know he was someone I could count on. But Mulder doesn't know me as well as he might think. For some reason, he thinks I like salad, for instance, and is constantly bringing me soggy Caesars from whatever godforsaken fast food restaurant he's so fond of, when all I want is a grilled chicken sandwich and a cappuccino. 

Mulder first earned his reputation at the FBI based on his ability to understand people and know what they're thinking, can get inside the head of almost anyone with little more information than what's inside their file on the nearest FBI computer. Yet he can't figure out my motivation for not simply leaving to become a doctor, even after six years of first hand experience with me? Men.

There's so much I want to say to Mulder, but can't get up the courage to voice. I want to tell him how I feel towards him, how much he's meant to me during our partnership, how much he means to me now. I found myself wishing, as I walked into our empty office, that the phone would simply- 

RING!!!!!! 

I dropped the files in my hands haphazardly on the nearest horizontal surface, scrambling to find the phone in my jacket as it rang several more times. Finally, I got it out and opened it. 

"Scully," I said, trying to sound professional. I doubted that I was succeeding. 

"Hey, G-woman. Guess who." His voice sounded stuffy and I wondered how he was doing with that flu. 

"I'll never guess, Mulder, you'd better just tell me." He laughed weakly on the other end.

"How are the investigations into the paranormal going?"

"Mulder, you know I never get in until..." I paused, checking my watch, "two seconds ago. Which means that no aliens, overgrown flatworms, or human lightning rods have jumped onto my desk yet. But I do have quite a mess of papers to clean up, now." The files I had walked in with had landed on Mulder's empty pencil holder and spilled out of their folders, and were now scattered on the floor. I scolded myself for my earlier longing. I would have much less cleaning to do and more time to talk to Mulder if it had waited until _after_ I had put the papers down on a more stable surface. He wasn't going anywhere, not with the case with of the flu he had. I hate it when I overdramatize. Especially about Mulder, since he's quite dramatic enough for the both of us. I allowed myself a smile at the thought that I, an severe victim of practicality, had fallen for the dramatic type.

I realized that Mulder hadn't said anything for at least thirty seconds while I'd been thinking.

"Mulder? You there?"

"Uh huh. Just trying to read you mind. Now be quiet, you're distracting me." I had a moment of stupid panic before I caught the joking quality to his voice and had to chastise myself again for letting him distract me and for being a pushover.

"So what am I thinking, Mulder? Prove this new ability of yours." There was a short pause while he made mystical humming noises. 

"It's all coming clear to me, Scully...you're thinking...about a tall man...much taller than you, you should be careful about those...wait...he's me! Yeah, you're currently thinking that I'm nuts." He tried to sound insulted.

"Dead wrong, Mulder, don't quit your day job."

"You _would_ say that, Scully. If I became a full time clairvoyant, it would mean that you would have to seek me out and pay for your psychic readings. This way you get them free! I'm right again, aren't I, Scully?" This was almost amusing, after all, if he left I might very well seek him out, though not for a psychic reading. Unfortunately, the grand finale to his monologue was an impressive round of coughing, reminding me that he was sick.

"Get some rest, G-man. I'll be over with some lunch for you once I'm done here." I hung up with a sigh, wishing that he had any idea what was going on in my head. Of course, all I had to do was pick up the phone and tell him, but my state of the art cell phone might as well have been nonexistent for all the help it was going to be in explaining my train of thought to Mulder.

"Maybe I could get myself seriously injured, and they'll put me on morphine or something. Then, if I admit my love to Mulder, I'll be taking no chances. I can just blame it on the drugs afterward!" I almost giggled for a moment, then stopped, knowing where I was getting this from and feeling a growing sense of realization. 

I suddenly decided that the spilled papers could wait and that Mulder and I were going to have grilled chicken sandwiches and cappuccinos for lunch. 


End file.
